


November in London

by Durrant



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Kabi's CarrierVerse, Dark, Dubious Consent, Hermaphrodites, Intersex John, M/M, Other, Romance, Very Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-19 06:04:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1458655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Durrant/pseuds/Durrant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Biological warfare has brought humanity to the brink of destruction, the plagues that wiped out every single woman leave mankind one generation from extinction; until a few rare, and very precious, men develop the ability to bear children. </p><p>An army doctor struggles to hide how his body has betrayed him, but a bullet in the shoulder sets off a chain of events that bring him to the attention of Sherlock Holmes.</p><p>Inspired by Kabi's CarrierVerse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> World building heavily borrowed from [Kabi's November series](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kabi/pseuds/Kabi/series)

John didn’t remember the War. He certainly didn’t remember a time before the War. 

Sometimes, after he’d had a few drinks, his Dad would talk about what the world had been like before the War. Or rather, what the world had been like the Bomb. 

Of all the bombs that had been dropped during the Third World War, there was only one that anyone spoke about. The biological one. The one that had lead to the death of two thirds of the female population. The sickness spread so rapidly that millions were dead within six months of the bomb dropping.

John’s mother had been one of the many women that died. He didn’t really remember her. Just the idea of a smiling woman and a song she used to sing to him. At least he still had his sister. She was an angry young women who refused to let other people’s opinions interfere with her own happiness. She was gay and proud in a time when everyone seemed to believe that every woman should be doing their bit to save humanity by being perpetually pregnant. 

The effects of the biological Bomb were long lasting; it was a virus that changed and mutated and could not be killed or inoculated against. Most men seemed completely unaffected by it, but the remaining women were not so lucky. 

Six years after the Bomb, the virus had mutated enough. That last third of the female population, the ones that had previously been immune, began to get ill.

They called it the Great Plague. 

And this time, no woman would escape. 

John had only just started secondary school, but Harry had already left home. She was living with her girlfriend and said she was happy to die there. His Dad thought it was too upsetting for John to go and see Harry, so he had to sneak out and catch a train to London all by himself. He wanted to say goodbye to his sister. 

Harry hugged him so tightly when she opened the door to him, but John could hear how shallow her breathing sounded already. She pulled him through to the tiny sitting room without saying a word. 

Eventually, he fell asleep, cuddling his sister on the sofa. He was still holding onto her when he woke up, but she was cold. 

For many, it was the end. Humanity was doomed to extinction. For years, everyone believed that to be true. Until, finally, the Change came. It was impossible to predict who would be affected by the Change, men of any age could be struck. John had nothing but pity for those men who Changed; humanity deserved to become extinct if how Carriers were treated was anything to go by.

But John never thought it would happen to him. The chances were so small, so he got on with his life. He became a doctor and he joined the army to fight in some far flung corner of the Earth where there never seemed to be peace. The prospect of its ultimate demise had made mankind more bloodthirsty than ever, and John felt himself drawn to help those who needed him. 

The stomach cramps didn’t worry him at first. The food was always terrible and everyone complained about it. But this was different. Sharp pains that woke him up in the middle of the night. Every night a little lower until finally he had to admit to himself that there was nothing wrong with his digestive system, this was something else. Something _other._

Even once the pain had subsided, John couldn’t sleep. What if he was becoming a Carrier? It was a terrifying thought, and once the idea was in his head he could think of nothing else. He spent the rest of the night in his bunk, wide awake and more scared than he’d ever been, even in the middle of a skirmish. 

At dawn, he got up, going through his duties, functioning; but that one, petrifying thought was stuck in his head. Sometimes he would move and his crotch would hurt, and he’d think that it must be true, that he was definitely Changing. Othertimes, there was no pain, and he laughed at himself for having been afraid at all. It was just a stomach ache caused by cheap rations and an unsanitary canteen. 

John prided himself on being someone that faced life head-on, someone that didn’t run from their problems. He had to know for sure, and he would find out. That evening he locked himself in one of the store rooms with a small mirror. Squatting over it, his trousers pulled to his knees, he examined his crotch. There it was. A red line running across his perineum. There was already a slight groove there, as his body prepared itself. Readying itself to split open around his vaginal opening. 

It wouldn’t be long now. Soon he wouldn’t be considered a man, just a breeding machine; a Carrier. A very precious breeding machine. If anyone found out he’d face the same fate as one of the Privates a few months ago; forced to a Carrier Centre, until he was claimed and married off to sprog up again and again until his body wouldn’t be able to take any more. 

The Change itself was agony. If he weren’t the only doctor on the base he wouldn’t have able to get away with it. When he phoned the Medical Technician and said he was too ill to get out of bed, but didn’t need assistance, he was believed and left alone. So he lay in his bunk, writhing in agony but too scared to make a noise in case someone came in to check on him. Too scared to take painkillers in case there was an emergency and he wouldn’t be able to hide himself because he was too drowsy. He bled from his new slit and, although he bandaged it up and tried to look at it with his mirror, he didn’t want to touch it. 

He’d seen pictures before, in medical journals, of male cunts. But not like this. Not red and swollen and still newly formed. Not on his own body. 

By the next day, he was back to work. It was painful but he felt more at ease taking painkillers now; nothing that would knock him out but enough to take the edge off. He couldn’t pretend to be ill any longer, couldn’t draw attention to himself. So he moved more slowly, sat down with caution and kept his thighs pressed together at all times. No-one seemed to notice a difference, apart from the odd glance from his Medical Technicians. 

Two weeks later he was even becoming confident that he could pull this off. That he could remain in hiding forever. His body would produce less testosterone, but he was ideally placed to steal whatever medication he needed.

It should have been a routine patrol, but it wasn’t. Instead, everything went to Hell. 

His pack felt heavier than he remembered it. He cursed under his breath that he’d let himself weaken, but he swore that as soon as he got back to base he’d do something about it. He’d exercise like a madman if he had to. 

In the distance they could hear gunshots, but before anyone could do anything about it the truck in front hit an IED. The explosion was the loudest thing John had ever heard. The Earth seemed to shake but he couldn’t see anything through the thick cloud of sand. For a few brief seconds, everything stilled and John could smell hot metal and warm blood and then they were under attack. Gunshots rang out and everyone was scrambling to return fire without knowing where the enemy was. 

Next to him, a young Private screamed and fell to the ground, his body thrashing and seizing. He’d been hit and his blood was oozing out of him. John threw his gun aside and knelt over the young man, trying to staunch the blood flow. There was a chance that the young man would live. 

But then his shoulder seemed to catch fire. He’d been shot!

John struggled to not give in to the pain, to continue treating the Private, but it was too much. He slumped to the ground as he felt his consciousness drain away into blackness and his last clear thought was that he hoped he was dying, because his secret was going to be out now. Everyone was going to know that he was a Carrier. He just hoped that he would already be a corpse by the time they realised. 

He woke up in a hospital bed, already back in England. 

“John! John! There you are! Do you remember what happened?” a young, wide-eyed nurse called to him. “You’re safe now, you’re home. You were flown back to London, and you’re in a Carrier hospital.”

John’s vision was bleary and his muscles felt too heavy to move, he grunted softly, not sure if he was dreaming or not. 

“Shh. You’re going to be ok, but you need to stay still, can you do that for me, John?”

The man’s words suddenly clicked in John’s head. He’d been shot and he’d been found out. He should still be in Afghanistan, but they’d discovered his secret and flown him home. He wanted to scream and run, he wanted his gun. 

But he was too heavily drugged. He couldn’t even feel the wound in his shoulder. 

“I know, I know. But you don’t have to pretend anymore. No-one’s angry with you for not telling anyone you’re a Carrier. You’ve been so brave, haven’t you, John? Now, I’m going to get you something to drink and there’s a nice Carrier here to see you, would you like that?”

John tried to shake his head, but his head was buzzing and all he could do was ineffectually flop his head back onto the pillow.

Ten minutes later John was beginning to feel more like himself. The nurse had given him some ice shavings to suck on and it had helped to make him feel more awake. He looked up as the door to his room opened, but it wasn’t the nurse returning. It was a Carrier, wearing a colourful natori and a bright grin. John closed his eyes. He didn’t need this person, wearing what amounted to a dress, extolling the reasons why he should be happy to be a Carrier. 

“John? Hi! I’m Sam.”

The ingrained habits of a lifetime stopped John from being as rude as he felt like being. Instead, he just pursed his lips and gave a slight acknowledging nod. 

“The Change is always rough. It must have been very difficult going through that by yourself. But, you know, being a Carrier isn’t such a bad thing. I mean, without us the human race dies out!” Sam laughed slightly nervously. John opened his eyes to look at the other Carrier properly. He was blond and his long hair curled flatteringly around his face in a style that looked like it took far more effort than it could possibly be worth. Sam beamed down at him. 

“So, when you’re feeling better, you’re going to come and live at Highlands. It’s the Carrier Centre in North London where I work. I’m a teacher and a counselor. You’re going to learn all about what it means to be a Carrier. Highlands is a special Centre, for Carriers who go through the Change when they’re a little bit older.”

John felt himself gag. He’d only spoken to two people who knew he was a Carrier and both of them were treating him like he’d suddenly become a child. His career, his whole life was slipping away. He’d never be a soldier or a doctor again. Now he was a Carrier, barely even a person at all. 

“The nurse says you’ll be arriving at the Centre in a few weeks time, so I’m going to leave you some literature and you can think about what you want to study when you get to us, ok?”

John didn’t answer, one thing that the Carrier had said registered with him. He was an older Carrier. Perhaps, if he was very lucky, he wouldn’t be put to use.

“Am I,” his voice cracked from disuse and his dry throat. He had no idea how long he’d been unconscious and how long it had been since the last time he’d spoken. “Am I fertile?”

“Oh, goodness, yes. Don’t you worry about that! Your fertility rating is very high. Any man would be lucky to have you! We should have you pregnant within the year!”

John didn’t even have the strength to grunt. He just closed his eyes and wished he was back in a coma.


	2. Chapter 2

“And your room is just at the end of the corridor, you’re sharing with Greg and I’m sure you’ll just be the best of friends. Would you like me to show you the rest of the way?” Sam said, flicking his hair. John gritted his teeth. A month ago he’d been in a warzone, now he was being asked if he was capable of walking down a hallway by himself. 

The ride from the hospital to the Centre had been long. There hadn’t been much to talk about after he’d told Sam that he hadn’t read any of the books that he’d left for him. John had had no interest in reading _Learning to Kneel: A Happy Carrier’s Story_ or _Why Your Body No Longer Belongs to You._ Nor had John been interested in reading the pamphlets about how he could learn to cook, or knit, or dance at Highlands. He’d spent the last month slowly coming to terms with the fact that his life was inextricably altered and he would either have to accept that or kill himself. He still wasn’t sure which option was better.

“No, thanks, Sam. I’ll take it from here.”

Sam smiled at him as if he couldn’t hear the annoyance in John’s voice, and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind his ear. 

“Alright, well, I’ll see you tomorrow at breakfast and then we can discuss what courses you’d like to take! I’m really excited about the new flower arranging course, and there’s the Carrier Etiquette class. I’m afraid that one’s compulsory, but I know you’ll find it really interesting!”

“That sounds...great. Goodbye,” John said firmly, before turning away. 

“Goodbye, John,” Sam called after him, his painfully happy voice grating on John’s ears.

He knocked on the door that Sam had told him was his, but then opened it without waiting for any response. His room was small, with two beds and two desks. It reminded him of his room back at Uni. There was also someone already in the room, and he was smoking. 

They weren’t supposed to smoke. They weren’t supposed to do anything unhealthy. Their bodies were precious and special and the hope for all mankind. Their bodies were not their own.

“Shit!” The man yelled, scrambling to hide the cigarette. “I, er, don’t suppose you’d mind not telling anyone about this?” the man asked, his silvery hair at that awkward length; too short to be tied back but too long to be styled. He must have only become a Carrier in the last few months. John grinned. 

“Can I have one?”

He hadn’t smoked since he’d been a teenager, but he was so tired of the restrictions, of being told what to do and this small act of defiance was thrilling. The man grinned back at him, and John realised that even though his hair was grey, he was considerably younger than John had previously thought. 

“Sure. It’s been one of those day, right?”

“Pretty much every day has been _one of those days_ recently,” John said as the man handed him a cigarette and leaned over to light it for him. 

“You’re John, aren’t you?” the man asked, continuing at John’s surprised glance. “I...I’m Greg.”

John inhaled slowly, relishing the taste of tar in his mouth. At the hospital he hadn’t been allowed anything unhealthy; no salt, no sugar. The cigarette itself tasted awful, but it was deliciously illicit. He leaned past Greg to puff the smoke out of the window. 

“Sorry, it doesn’t open any more than that. I suppose they think we’ll try and escape if we could open these windows fully.”

John eyed Greg wearily. He’d just met the bloke, but he seemed like he was someone who was willing to break rules. Someone who might be willing to help John get out of here. He wasn’t sure what would be waiting for him outside the Centre, but it had to be better than staying here. 

“Well,” John pursed his lips thoughtfully, “If someone was wanting to escape, I think it would be the high wall around the perimeter that would be the biggest obstacle.”

“Around the perimeter?” Greg repeated with a sad smiled. “I think you must have been a very interesting man, before you became a Carrier. But, no,” Greg tapped his cigarette out and put the dog end back into the cigarette box, ”There’s no point running. When I first got here, I thought the same thing. A few us got together, we made it about twenty-five metres past the main wall. We thought we’d been so sneaky, but what they don’t tell you is that you’ve already been chipped. You have a GPS tracker in your spine. They put it in as soon as you Change. They’ll always be able to find you.”

John took another puff of his fag. The news about the tracker wasn’t surprising. It fitted in with how society treated Carriers. It hadn’t been much of a hope anyway. 

“They took my last roommate. He was one of the Carriers that tried to escape with me. He’d, he’d got into trouble before, just for being gobby and talking back sometimes. But...but the escape attempt was the last straw. Highlands is supposed to be this prestigious Centre, where the rich and powerful come to look for older, more civilised Carriers to claim. And Jim, well, they decided he wasn’t good enough. They shipped him off to a breeding farm.”

Greg sniffed loudly and John realised he was on the verge of tears. He took another drag from his cigarette, unsure what he should do. He hadn’t seen anyone cry in years. Not since Harry had been alive, and, even then, only when they had been children. He stubbed the cigarette out and went to sit next to Greg on the bed. Greg didn’t move away so John patted him awkwardly on the back. 

“Sorry, sorry. This isn’t me! I never used to cry. And, now, everything sets me off.”

“It’s the hormones. It takes months for your body to adjust after the Change. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” 

Greg turned his face away so that John couldn’t see if he was really crying or not

“It is. I’m so sorry. This is your first day and here I am, blubbering away.”

“It’s fine. I was worried I’d end up sharing a room with someone like Sam, who’d be convinced it’s wonderful to be a Carrier.”

Greg smiled weakly.

“I don’t think that’s much of a worry. Some people are better at hiding it, but there’s nothing good about being a Carrier.”

John let his hand fall from Greg’s back, there wasn’t much else to say. He was usually the one that cheered up the men around him, he was usually so good at keeping moral in order, but he didn’t have the heart for it anymore. Greg’s depression was entirely justified. John moved to his own bed and the two of them spent the rest of the night in silence. 

 

 

The next morning John followed Greg down to a bright and airy cafeteria. It was far posher than John had been expecting, but, as he and Greg queued to get their food, he realised that there was no choice about what food he was given. Everyone was given the same healthy muesli and herbal tea.

“Is there any chance of getting a decent cup of coffee around here?” John asked quietly. Greg laughed.

“No,” Greg said, without any bitterness. He grinned at John, “But there’s -”

Greg stopped, his shoulders tensed and he held himself more upright. “But the tea’s alright.”

“What’s wrong?” John asked, turning to see what had made his new friend react so strangely. One of the guards that he’d seen guarding the outside of Highlands had stepped into the cafeteria. The man was looking around at the Carriers with a pompous swagger that annoyed John instantly.

“His name’s Anderson. Come on, let’s sit down,” Greg said stiffly, before leading them over to a table that was as far away from the guard as possible. John sat down and took a sip of his tea, grimacing as he tasted the vaguely flowery hot water. If he couldn’t have coffee then he at least wanted a strong cup of tea to wake him up. 

“So, Anderson? Do you know him well?” John asked tentatively.

“Yeah,” Greg’s shoulders slumped and scowled down at his bowl of muesli. “We used to work together. We were both policemen, on the Met. Until my Change and I came here. I never expected to see any of my team again, but I’d only been here a few weeks when Anderson showed up. I thought we were, well, not friends, but colleagues. Apparently not. He changed jobs, just so he can make my life here hell. He was always a petty minded bastard, who hated me for the way I trusted a consultant over him.”

Greg shut his mouth quickly.

“Actually, I think I’m going to go back to the room for a bit, before classes start. I’ll see you later, yeah, John?”

“Sure,” John said, trying to sound reassuring. Across the room Sam caught his eye and waved at John enthusiastically. Greg stood and, carrying his tray, began to walk away. He hadn’t gone very far when Anderson rushed towards him.

“Lestrade!” The guard called out with a sneer. “Show me how much you’ve eaten. Oh, well that’s not nearly enough, is it? Its against the rules for Carriers to starve themselves, don’t you know your body is precious?”

Greg scoffed but didn’t say anything. His response seemed to enrage Anderson, who grabbed his arm, sending the tray of food to the ground. The china bowl and mug smashed, sending pieces of pottery and muesli up into the air. 

“Pick it up, Carrier!” Anderson barked. None of the other Carriers were even looking round, everyone seemed to be studiously ignoring what was happening. For a second, John thought that Greg would argue back, that he would refuse. But he didn’t. Instead, he dropped slowly to his knees, bowing down before Anderson as he picked up the remains of his breakfast.

Anderson smiled widely with sadistic glee as Greg shuffled round on his hands and knees.

John watched, horrified; he didn’t know if he should intervene or not. 

“I -” John began half-rising from his chair. But suddenly, Sam was in front him, blocking his view of Greg and Anderson. 

“John! I’m so glad I’ve found you! I wanted to talk about our counseling session we’re going to have after breakfast to welcome all the new Carriers! Come on, sit down and I’ll tell you all about it.”

John’s jaw clenched reflexively as he listened to Sam’s patter.

“I was going to help Greg.”

“Ooh,” Sam squealed, “Aren’t you lovely! But thats nothing to worry about, John. We have to let the guards do their job, they’re here for our own protection,” he finished, sounding firmer than normal. He sat down briskly and gave John an impatient look.

“You call that protection?”John asked incredulously, pointing towards Greg and Anderson. Sam twisted in his seat as Greg stood up slowly. Anderson leered at him. 

“You look good on your knees, Lestrade,” Anderson sneered, but Greg turned and walked away. John thought that Anderson was going to follow him, but the guard just shrugged and looked around the cafeteria with a self-satisfied smirk. 

“See, John, everything’s fine. Now, you and a couple of other new Carriers are coming with me after breakfast for orientation, and then you can get straight into lessons. Have you finished eating?” 

“I suppose, can I get any proper tea?” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, John, but caffeine is just so unhealthy! And, you know, this hibiscus tea really does taste ever so good.”

Sam stood and took John’s tray, depositing it on a rack before leading him out of the cafeteria. As they made their way, a few other Carriers caught up with them. All of them had a slightly lost air, as if none of them could quite believe they were really there. The new Carriers were all wearing trousers but Sam had on an ankle length natori that made a swishing noise with each step he took. For some reason, John found the noise more annoying than anything else that had happened to him since arriving at Highlands. 

Sam smiled at each of them as he led them towards a small classroom. None returned his smile. 

“Alright, here we are, find a seat. This shouldn’t take long. I’ve already introduced myself to you all individually, but we’ll go over some things again while I have you here. I’m your teaching assistant, which means I go with you, and some others who are in our little group, to some of your classes and make sure that you are alright. If you need to talk to someone about what you’re going through, then you should come and talk to me. No-one expects you to feel like a Carrier overnight, which is why I highly recommend that you all start wearing natori just as soon as you can. They really are much more convenient than cumbersome trousers! And, I know, it’s up to you to do what you want with your hair, but really, most men do prefer their Carriers with longer hair.” Sam shrugged his long locks over his shoulder with a practised flick.

“And what if I don’t care how men prefer their Carriers to look?” A dark man sitting at the back of the classroom called out.

“Well, Rob,” Sam smiled tightly, “Highlands is a safe place for you to live for as long as you like, but, eventually, you’re going to want to have a home of your own. A husband who loves you and children that you’ll make together! But, because it’s not safe for Carriers to be outside by themselves, you won’t be able to leave Highlands until you get married.”

“No, because my father will come. It is not legal that I am here. In Sweden, Carriers are free,” a blond Carrier burst out. He was pale and gangly, and looked far younger than all the other Carriers. 

“Oh, honey, Carriers are free here too. I’m so sorry that somebody lied to you, but it’s perfectly legal for you so stay here. You don’t have to go back to Sweden, you don’t belong there anymore. You went through the Change in Britain, that makes you British, OK? Your Dad has already got you transferred to this Centre, even though, strictly speaking you should be being trained with Carriers you own age. But everyone knows that this is the best Centre in all of London. We’re all very lucky to be here, Per.”

The young Swede curled his fist and John wondered if he was going to attack Sam. It was surprising that Sam wasn’t punched on a fairly regular basis, he certainly made John’s blood boil.

There was a dangerous tension in the room, but Sam seemed to be entirely oblivious to it. He smiled blithely. 

“I don’t expect any of you to change overnight. But your time at Highlands is a good thing! It’s a time when you can learn how to be the new person that you’ve become. You can learn some of the gentler arts, things that men don’t have time for. Now, I was thinking, as none of you have made any clear decisions on what classes you want to take, why don’t we all go along to this morning’s bread making class. Doesn’t that sound delicious? And everyone knows that happy homes are filled with the smell of baking bread!”

Sam’s smile faltered for the first time as everyone glared at him stonily.

“I mean, what other choice do you have?” he asked. John sighed to himself. He supposed he’d already made his decision; as much as he hated everything that was happening, he’d find a way to get through it. He pushed his chair back and stood up. After everything else that had happened, learning how to make bread was far from the worst.


	3. Chapter 3

This was one class that John actually enjoyed. Being outside and puttering around with plants didn’t seem like it was something only Carriers would do. It felt perfectly manly, but John found he didn’t really care about such distinctions. This was a class that let him be outside in the sunshine and that was what he liked most about it. 

“Greg? You decided to take up gardening?” John asked, surprised to see his roommate in this class. 

Greg shrugged tiredly but then gave John a cheerful smile. 

“It’s good to get outside. And this is one of the classes that Sam doesn’t sit in on.”

“Yeah, how are you feeling today?” John asked. He’d only been at the Centre for a few days, but he’d already become fast friends with his roommate. The only problem was that Greg seemed to fall into dark moods that John couldn’t seem to shake him out of. He understood why Greg felt the way he did, but at the same time he wanted to shake him and tell him to stop wallowing and get on with it by making the best of the situation they had found themselves in. John doubted that Greg would appreciate the advice so he kept his mouth shut. 

“Alright. How can you tell which ones are weeds? They all look the same.” Greg asked, eyeing the plants that John was pulling out of the soil. 

“Oh, er. Well, I’m just pulling anything that looks young. I don’t exactly have the greenest thumb,” John chuckled, “Shit, Sam’s followed you out here!”

Greg turned quickly, and sure enough, heading straight towards them was Sam and a few other Carriers that John recognised. 

“There you are, John! And Greg, too,” Sam’s excited voice dimmed a little as he said Greg’s name but he continued in a breathless rush. “I wanted to talk to you all together because I have something to tell you and I know you’re all going to be very excited about this. We’re going to be having a party tomorrow night! An exclusive little get-together, a few drinks in the gardens. We’ll be able to admire all the hard work that Greg and John have been doing out there!”

Rob gave a half-hearted clap but Sam beamed at him as if he’d done something amazing. 

“That’s right! We should be proud of other Carrier’s achievements! Now, I know a few of you haven’t tried on a natori yet, but I really want you to consider wearing one for the party tomorrow. I’m looking at you, Rob, and you, John! I think you’ll be amazed at how good it feels!”

John bent down to pluck a weed, catching Sam’s eye. 

“Oh, come one! Don’t you want to look good so that you can find yourself a nice boyfriend? Maybe you can get lucky and find someone as nice as our Greg’s boyfriend!” Sam smiled so sincerely that John wanted to hit him. Instead he just looked at Greg and raised a curious eyebrow. Greg had never mentioned having a boyfriend. 

Greg shrugged and turned away, suddenly busy with the one weed that he’d managed to uproot. John pursed his lips and kept quiet. He’d wait until after class to ask Greg. 

“Boyfriend?” John whispered, as they made their way back into the Centre, but Greg didn’t say anything and just pretended he hadn’t heard John’s question. By the time they were back inside, Greg was surrounded by other Carriers and John didn’t like to ask any more questions about Greg’s boyfriend until he could get the man alone. From the way that Greg was acting, John was sure this would be a conversation that would be better held in private. 

But after an afternoon of gardening, the only physical activity he’d had aside from the physio sessions he’d had in the hospital before he’d come to Highlands, John was exhausted. He fell asleep early and by the time he woke up Greg was already up and dressed. 

In the end, John didn’t have a chance to be alone with Greg until just an hour before their party was due to start. He found him in their room, dressed in a silk natori and brushing his hair. 

John hesitated to walk in on him, when Greg had been so obviously avoiding him. 

“John, wait! Don’t go, I’m sorry, I was being so juvenile. It’s just sometimes Sam can really… He just always seems to say the wrong words and then it gets me thinking about things.”

“It’s alright. You could just tell me to mind my own business, if you don’t want to talk about this boyfriend, you know.”

“Well, I don’t know about boyfriend. Sam might call him my boyfriend but...” Greg smoothed down his natori, the dark green silk reaching down past his knees, and John noticed that the man’s legs were shaved. “He’s the brother of someone I used to work with. We weren’t..we didn’t...I think he just appreciated the fact that I let his junkie brother on to crime scenes. Sherlock, that’s Mycroft’s brother, is, well, he thinks differently. He’d make a terrible policeman, but he’s good at catching murderers. 

“Then, after Sherlock got cleaned up, a few years ago, I stopped seeing Mycroft. I never gave him another thought, until he turned up as I was leaving Scotland Yard one night and tells me to get into his car. He told me I was going to Change.”

Greg looked up and laughed a little bitterly.

“Course, I didn’t believe him! I didn’t know that anybody knew beforehand, I thought it was always sudden, symptomless...I told him he was crazy. He gave me a choice. I could either go home with him there and then, and when I changed he’d...Claim me. _Marry me_. Or he could bring me here, I’d go through the medicals and then after I Changed, he’d court me formally. Well, I thought he was insane, so I said, bring me here, let’s do these medicals, that’ll prove you wrong. Only they didn’t. I wasn’t even allowed to go back to my flat to collect my stuff, or say goodbye to anyone. Just...gone, just like that.”

Greg tilted his head down and his silver locks covered his face; John wasn’t sure if he was crying or not. He couldn’t think of any words of condolence. Anything he said would have been empty. He could try saying the things that Sam would have said to them, something cheery and inane, but it would be pointless.

“Mycroft,” Greg continued cautiously, “Mycroft’s the reason I wasn’t shipped off to a breeding farm, like Jim was, after we tried to escape. He’s a government bigwig, and I know he must have pulled some serious strings to make sure I wasn’t punished. Well, only slightly beaten.”

“He sounds like someone you want to have on your side.”

Greg stood and went to check his eyes in the mirror. 

“Yeah. Or rather, someone you don’t want to be on the wrong side of. He’ll want to meet you tonight. He likes to keep an eye on me. I’m not being funny or anything, but keep your head down. You don’t want to attract Mycroft Holmes’ attention.”

John nodded.

“Do you want to wear a natori?” Greg asked, turning to him. He looked so sad and John knew that this was Greg’s way of apologising for avoiding him earlier. John hadn’t had any intention of ever putting a natori on, it was a symbol of everything that was wrong with his life. He was still a man, despite the Changes in his body and he didn’t want to put on a dress. But Greg was looking at him so earnestly, so hopefully, that he couldn’t rebuff him. 

“I don’t own one.”

Greg beamed at him.

“That’s ok, I can lend you one. I...well, Mycroft buys them for me. I suppose he must like them, but, actually, they are really comfortable.”

He felt ridiculous in it, but Greg was positively cheerful as he dressed John up. All John had to do was stand there, feeling awkward while Greg fussed over him. It reminded him vaguely of the games he used to play with Harry when he was child. Then he felt guilty for comparing Greg to a woman. Being a Carrier shouldn’t make him any less of a man. 

“We should get going. Sam’ll come up and find us if we’re late. And he might bring Anderson. Do you want any make-up?”

John shook his head vigorously.

“No? It’s not really my cup of tea either, but Mycroft sent me a kit. Alright, let’s get this over with.”

The garden had been decorated with lights and a small pavillion had been erected. It looked like a fancy garden party, the sort of posh gathering that had always been a world away from John’s previous life. It would have been nice, but there was already a small crowd of strange men standing around with drinks in their hands. John felt a wave of panic, he wasn’t ready for this; he couldn’t _do this_.

“John, let me introduce you to Mycroft,” Greg said, a hand on the small of John’s back leading him forwards when all he wanted to do was run back to their room. Greg led him to a ginger man in a suit that, even John could see, must have been ridiculously expensive. 

John put his hand out, his palm facing down as he’d been taught. He wasn’t a man anymore, and only men shook hands. Mycroft squeezed his fingers gently, completing the mockery of a proper handshake. 

“A pleasure to meet you, John,” Mycroft said blandly, “You must be Gregory’s new roommate.”

Mycroft’s eyes appraised him as he gave John a condescending smile. He was intensely aware that the knot of his natori wasn’t sitting at his waist like it should; that his legs were hairy and looked ridiculous sticking out of what amounted to a dress; that his hair was still far shorter than any of the other Carriers. 

“Er...Yeah. Sorry, how did you know that?” John asked, bewildered. Highlands was kept so isolated that Greg wouldn’t have had the chance to tell Mycroft that he had a new roommate, let alone his name. 

“Gregory so rarely introduces me to his friends, you must be close,” Mycroft smiled thinly. It didn’t sound like much of an answer, but John let it go. “Ah, here is Sherlock now.”

John looked round and saw a lanky man with a face that seemed like a strange assortment of features, all glued together without being properly matched up first. 

“Sherlock -” Greg began, but he was interrupted.

“New roommate, Lestrade?” Sherlock turned to look at John, his silvery eyes were piercing and intense. “Afghanistan or Iraq?”

John spluttered. How could this stranger have possibly known to ask that? Mycroft tutted gently. 

“Sherlock, really. Obviously John served in Afghanistan. Now, perhaps you would be so kind as to take John to get a drink. I’d like to have a quiet word with Gregory.”

Sherlock’s eye twitched angrily and he stalked away, leaving John to trail after him. 

“Here,” Sherlock shoved a glass of orange juice into his hands and glared back at his brother. 

“Thanks. Look, how did you know that I was in Afghanistan?”

“I didn’t,” Sherlock muttered churlishly, his bottom lip sticking out in childish pout.

“Yeah, but that was still amazing. How did you know?”

Sherlock’s attention focused entirely on him and John shivered slightly under the intensity of his gaze. 

“Do you really think so?” he asked with a small smile, “Oh! Of course you were in Afghanistan. You’re John Watson!” Sherlock snorted inelegantly and muttered something under his breath that John couldn’t quite make out but he was sure it was something derogatory about Mycroft. 

“Well?” John pushed, when Sherlock didn’t say anything else

“It’s not so impressive once you know how it’s done,” Sherlock said with a slight blush. He almost looked embarrassed but, as John was the one wearing a dress and feeling the breeze on his leg hair, he didn’t have a lot of sympathy.

“The way you stand and your haircut are obviously military. Your tan lines are from your uniform, so - “

“John!” Sam interrupted, suddenly beside him and grabbing hold of his elbow. “Come on, John. There are some very interesting men I’d like you to meet.” Sam’s face had that tight smile that meant he was struggling to remain cheerful. “Come along now.”

“Alright,” John said, trying and failing to shrug Sam off. “That was fantastic by the way. I think it sounds more impressive, when you explain how it’s done.”

Sherlock looked gobsmacked as John let himself be dragged away.

“John! Fantastic! Really!” Sam tutted, “That man is a menace. His brother brings him to these parties but he has no interest in finding a Carrier and he just ends up making whoever he talks to cry. Best to avoid him altogether. Now, you should come and meet Mr Chisholm-Speys, he’s an accountant with a flat in Knightsbridge and an estate in Gloucestershire.”

John tuned Sam out and twisted his head to look at Sherlock. The young man was staring after him with a shocked smile on his face.

Mr Chisholm-Speys turned out to be a fat, balding man who asked if John had cut his hair that short on purpose before he asked anything else. A few men introduced themselves to him, but he barely had the chance to say more than a few words to each of them before Sam was approaching and dragging him away to meet someone else. In fact, John noticed that Sam was making sure that all the Carriers were introduced to different men throughout the evening. Everyone except Greg, who was either talking to Mycroft, or he was standing awkwardly by himself. 

He had hoped to get another chance to talk to Sherlock. He had been the most interesting person he’d spoken to in ages. By the time that Sam had introduced him to everyone and he had a few minutes to himself, he realised that Sherlock must have already left. He was nowhere in sight. John felt a small pang of disappointment, but rationalised that it was probably for the best. Just because he had seemed like an interesting bloke, didn’t mean that he wanted Sherlock to get the wrong idea. 

When Sam’s beady eyes weren’t on him, John slipped away from the garden and made his way back to his room. Greg was already there and already changed into his pajamas. 

“Hey.”

“Hi, John.”

“I didn’t expect you to be up here already. Did Mycroft leave then?”

“Yeah,” Greg rubbed his eyes tiredly and yawned, “He’s got an early flight to Bucharest in the morning. How was Sherlock? I saw Sam was throwing you at every man there, but you seemed to talk to Sherlock for awhile longer than anyone else.”

“He was...nice,” John said hesitantly. He was surprised that Greg had been keeping such a close eye on him, but he supposed the man had been a policeman. He must have been used to being observant. 

“Yeah,” Greg kicked off his slippers, “Nice. Sometimes I think that… I was the only one that helped Sherlock when he was younger, and I didn’t do it for any other reason than I saw someone that I could help. Mycroft’s a politician really, and it surprised him so much, that someone would do something without wanting something in return, that he always felt indebted. Claiming me would free him of that debt. I’m an obligation, and I just want to scream, ‘fuck you Mycroft Holmes, maybe, just maybe, if you left me alone, I’d find someone who actually wants me’. The Holmes family are pretty influential, no man will even talk to me while Mycroft’s _courting_ me.”

“Do you want another man?” John asked in surprise. Greg let out a shuddering breath and fell backwards onto the bed.

“No. I don’t know. I want to get out of Highlands, I want to get away from bloody Anderson and his fucking little ego trip.”

“You could, you know, ask Mycroft to do something about him,” John said cautiously. He wasn’t exactly sure if Mycroft would have the power to do anything about Anderson.

“I could,” Greg slipped under his duvet with a shiver. “But…have you ever had sex, John? Sorry! Sorry! I shouldn’t have asked. But the thing is, I have. Before. When I was a man. I quite like wearing natori and shaving my legs and all sorts of other things that come along with being a Carrier. What I want, what I really want, is my job back. I want to solve murders and wear a natori and have sex with men. But I can’t, I don’t have any control of my life and that’s bollocks. So, so I’m going to get some control over my life and I can’t do that if I run to Mycroft bloody Holmes with every problem I run into!”

John nodded dumbly and started to strip out of his borrowed natori.

“I, er, I never did. Have sex. I tried….other stuff. But, it was always just too messy.”

Greg giggled quietly and John smiled, glad that his friend was cheerful again. Picking up his pillow, he hit Greg’s stomach with a soft blow. 

“Not like that! Just, I always thought it was better not to think about sex. It’s not that I never thought of blokes like that, I just never really thought about it for very long. It was always simpler to keep things between me and my own hand. And, occasionally, someone else’s hand.”

Greg laughed again. 

“Do you think you’ll be alright? When it comes down to it?”

John shrugged and pulled on his pajamas. 

“Suppose so. I read that pamphlet of Sam’s,” John was interrupted by Greg’s loud groan, “Yeah, yeah. _Coping with your wedding night!_ It was actually not as much bollocks as everything else. It sort of said that you shouldn’t look at what’s happening, just let it happen, sex as a chore, like doing the laundry or making bread.”

“Fucking bread!” Greg groaned again, “I just used to buy my bread in the supermarket. I don’t understand this obsession with making us bake bread.”

John smirked.

“Yeah, I know what you mean. But I think having an excuse to punch something, and then pretend I’m justing kneading my dough, is probably going to be very useful. Ready for lights out?” John asked hurriedly. He just realised that he’d been thinking about married life. About what would happen to him after he left Highlands and it had seemed so natural to him. His stomach twisted oddly and he turned the light out before Greg answered.


	4. Chapter 4

“John? Oh my, your flowers do look pretty!” Sam simpered as he walked into John’s flower arranging class. “Now, we don’t usually do this, but you have a guest. You can go and see him unchaperoned, but you’ll have to stay in sight of the building. Alright? Just make sure that you can see a guard at all - “

“I can’t have a guest, I don’t know anyone,” John frowned. He couldn’t imagine who could have come to see him and whoever it was, this didn’t bode well. The only Carriers who had guests were those who had serious boyfriends and were on the brink of getting married. 

“Yes, well, this is a bit of a special case. It’s Sherlock Holmes. I’d turn him away, honestly I would, but his brother, you know, has rather a lot of say about what goes on here, and I wouldn’t want it getting back to him that we turned Sherlock away. So, I know he’s a bore, but just talk to him for a few minutes. No-one expects miracles from you, John.”

Sam bustled him out of the classroom and took him out to the garden.

“It’s such a shame you’re not wearing a natori. We should always try to look our best, don’t you agree, John? But I suppose he saw you in one last week, so he knows how lovely you _can_ look.” Sam nattered away. It was almost a relief to see Sherlock lazing on one of the wooden benches in the garden. 

“Now, don’t forget. Stay within sight of the building. A virtueless Carrier is a worthless Carrier, alright?”

John’s lips formed a tight line and he refused to answer which seemed like enough of a response for Sam, who gave him a cheery smile and patted his arm condescendingly. 

As he approached Sherlock, the younger man bounced out of the bench, vibrating with energy.

“John! They made me wait ages!” he pouted before smirking at John. “You were arranging flowers! Take a walk with me, I’ve had the most brilliant idea and it will solve everything!”

“I’m not supposed to go far.”

“Don’t be dull, John. This is important,” Sherlock said dismissively and John, to his surprise, found himself agreeing. The rules were dull. Besides, he doubted that Sherlock was going to try anything on. Even if he did, John was pretty sure that he could take him in a fight. 

“I’ve been thinking and I’ve decided that we should get married.”

John stumbled over a gnarled looking exposed root. Sherlock didn’t reach out to catch him, or help him in any way. 

“Why? We don’t know each other at all!”

Sherlock smirked. 

“Highlands chaperones every interaction that their Carriers have. I wouldn’t have even been able to talk to you if I hadn’t started dropping Mycroft’s name everywhere. It has to be useful for something. No-one really _knows_ the person they’re marrying, but we’re compatible. You like my deductions,” Sherlock finished, his voice sounding more like an accusation than anything else. It certainly didn’t sound like a marriage proposal. 

“But what about…?” John trailed off, unwilling to ask for more details about what exactly Sherlock expected from a marriage.

“I’ve had flatmates before. It doesn’t tend to work out. In all likelihood this arrangement won’t work any better, but it will serve a purpose.”

He put his hand in his pocket and brought out a syringe. There was no label on it, no indication of what it was. John looked questioningly up at Sherlock, who sighed with exasperation. 

“Contraceptive. It’s good for three months, but it takes a few days to be effective,” Sherlock explained, but John’s hands were already wrapping around Sherlock’s hand, closing his fingers around the syringe so that no-one would be able to see it.

“Shit! You can’t go waving that around! Do you know what they’d do to me if they caught me with that stuff?” John said, torn between the desire to snatch it from Sherlock and fear of being found out. 

“They aren’t going to give you a physical before you leave,” Sherlock said disdainfully as he pulled his hand out of John’s grip. For a thin man he was deceptively strong, although John knew he was already losing muscle strength and could no longer judge strength as he had once been able. “We will have to, to consummate the arrangement. They’ll give you a medical after that, but by then you’ll be mine and it won’t be any of their business if you’re pumped full of contraceptives.”

“Yours?”

“You know what I mean,” Sherlock waved his hand dismissively, “You can get hung up on technicalities and wait around here for a man you actually like to claim you; or you can come home with me.”

John waited for him to continue.

“You know, most people wouldn’t stop there. They’d give me a reason why I should go home with you.”

Sherlock looked at him like he’d grown a second head.

“Because you find being here humiliating and you desperately want to leave, because you’re bored and you know that, no matter where you go after you leave here, you’ll continue to be bored. Bored and turned into a baby-making machine.”

“And it won’t be like that with you?”

“No!”

John waited in silence for him to continue, but Sherlock was just staring into the distance with a bored expression on his face.

“You used to be a junkie.”

Sherlock let out a loud, obnoxious sigh.

“And you used to be a soldier, it doesn’t mean I expect you to salute me.”

“You’re going to want children though.” John said, it was a statement not even worth turning into a question.

“Eventually. Claiming a Carrier should appease Mycroft for now. Eventually, I’ll be expected to carry on the family name.”

“Why can’t Mycroft continue the family name?”

Sherlock shrugged and then gave a vicious grin. 

“Because he’s much better at giving advice than listening to it. You accept, then?”

John pursed his lips and looked back along the path they’d been walking down. The grey concrete of the Centre looked particularly gloomy in the overcast afternoon sun. He wasn’t sure what Sherlock was offering, but it sounded a hell of a lot better than staying in that miserable place. 

“Alright.”

Sherlock stopped, obviously startled. 

“You want to come with me?” Sherlock said in astonishment. John shrugged.

“Why not?” casting his lot in with a man he barely knew sounded just as sane as anything else that had happened to him since his Change. Sherlock’s grin widened, his eyes sparkling with delight.

“Excellent. Now, roll up your sleeve and I’ll inject you. The paperwork should be ready in two days, but I’ll slow everything down to give this a chance to work. We’ll have the ceremony on Thursday. That way Mycroft won’t be able to make it.”

“Sure,” John muttered, watching as Sherlock emptied the syringe into him. As wedding presents went, a contraceptive was probably the best he could have wished for.


	5. Chapter 5

_A docile Carrier is a happy Carrier: Castration, a simple surgery!_

_Give your Carrier the feminine touch with breast implants!_

John stared, open mouthed at the sea of pamphlets, each with a title more horrific than the next. He wanted to be sick. He’d just got married, he’d just signed his life over to a man he barely knew who could, quite legally, do anything to him. Usually Carriers weren’t allowed in the main foyer, so he’d never seen any of these gruesome titles before but Sherlock had told him to wait there and, as they’d just got married, no-one was going to question him. Every man who came to the Centre passed through this foyer, they would all see these pamphlets. Was this how they all viewed Carriers?

He pulled at the white natori that the Centre had given him to wear to get married in. He knew he looked ridiculous. But all his other clothes were things that the Centre had lent him. Now he was married and he’d had to return everything. He didn’t have anything else. 

The wedding itself had been ridiculously easy. Sherlock had signed a piece of paper and then John had. The small room had been filled with Carriers that he had shared classes with, although he’d barely spoken to anyone of them. Everyone had plastered on smiles. Sam’s smile had been the biggest of all. It had been slightly unnerving to see Sam so happy, as if anything that made Sam that happy would have to be a bad thing. Greg had stood near him with a permanently shocked expression on his face. 

“Psst, John,” someone whispered. John turned to see Greg, standing awkwardly in a doorway. They both knew he shouldn’t really be there, and he’d get in trouble if he was found. John felt a sudden swell of affection for Greg. He knew that Greg didn’t really understand why he’d married Sherlock, why he’d left the relative safety of Highlands. But, nonetheless, his friend had come to see him off.

“Greg, I,” John turned his back on the bank of pamphlets and walked over to his friend. He wasn’t sure if Greg had seen them before, but he hoped he could spare his friend. “Don’t let Anderson catch you down here.”

“Bah, I’m not worried about him,” Greg said with a nervous glance over his shoulder. “Everything’s been so rushed, and I didn’t get a proper chance to say goodbye. I couldn’t let you leave like that. Here, I brought you something.”

Greg pushed a bundle of cloth into John’s hands. 

“It's a natori, the one you borrowed for the party. I know this isn’t exactly a romance, but it was what you were wearing when you first met Sherlock.” Greg gave a pained smile. “Sentiment, yeah?”

“I...Thanks, Greg,” John smiled. It was a kind gesture. Greg’s smile became less pained.

“Yeah, I know you’re not really into them. But, well, I thought it might be handy. Now come here and give me a hug goodbye.”

John stiffened but Greg didn’t seem to notice as he wrapped his arms around John. He’d never felt that much smaller than Greg, but he was completely surrounded by Greg. He hadn’t been this close to someone in years, not since that last night with Harry. Slowly, he let himself relax and his head fell onto Greg’s shoulder. Large hands rubbed circles on his back and he felt overwhelminlyg comforted. Tears came to his eyes and he suddenly wished that he hadn’t agreed to this marriage, he wanted to stay here with Greg. 

“I’ll come back and visit, you know. Often.”

Greg gently pushed him away.

“You do that,” he put a hand on top of John’s head and gently pulled at his unstyled hair that was beginning to get awkwardly long. “Leave your hair alone, and I’ll do something with it when you come and visit me, alright?”

“Yeah, I promise,” John shuffled awkwardly. He wasn’t really used to such intimate touches, although he supposed, as he would have to consummate his marriage, he should get used to them. 

“Shit, there’s Sherlock,” Greg muttered. John turned to see Sherlock waiting for him outside. “You’d better get going. Don’t forget your promise!”

Outside, Sherlock beckoned for him impatiently. 

“I won’t! Bye, Greg!” John said, already turning away and making his way through the foyer and outside to Sherlock and a waiting car. Behind him, he thought he heard Greg call out a final goodbye, but he wasn’t sure. 

Sherlock had already got into the back of the dark car by the time that John got outside. He was sprawled decadently over the back seat and John had to wedge himself into the seat so that he wasn’t touching Sherlock at all. John closed the car door behind him with a bang and the car set off. There was a darkened glass partition between them and the chauffeur, although John didn’t know why they’d bothered tinting the glass. Sherlock could do anything he wanted with him now and the driver wasn’t going to stop him. 

John flushed, acutely aware that he’d gambled so much, just because he’d been so eager to leave Highlands, but really, he didn’t know Sherlock at all . 

“Don’t you have any other clothes?” Sherlock demanded imperiously. He’d barely spoken during the ceremony and he hadn’t said a word to John since their union had become official, besides a brusque command, telling him to wait whilst he arranged for their car. 

“Er..no. I mean, the Centre provided things, but I had to leave them behind.”

Sherlock hummed disapprovingly and turned his attention to the passing scenery, seemingly uninterested in any further conversation. John kept a wary eye on him, but he was soon distracted by what he could see out of the car window. 

He’d been caged up in Highlands for weeks and now he was finally out and free and in London. He watched as they drove past through the deathly quiet suburbs. He knew that most of the houses were empty. There wasn’t much need for family homes anymore. 

The silence and the hum of the engine lulled John and he felt himself relax despite himself. Slowly, he stretched out and made himself comfortable in his seat. When the car pulled up to a townhouse in Central London, John was almost surprised. He’d thought the journey would be longer. He was not prepared for whatever he was going to discover when he got out of the car. 

Sherlock jumped out of the car and ran ahead, only looking back when he realised that John wasn’t following right behind him. John got out of the car slowly, even though he could feel Sherlock’s intense gaze on him. It wasn’t considered safe for Carriers to be out on the streets by themselves, so once he entered his new home it might be some time before he would have the opportunity to come outside like this. 

The wind was cool on his cheek and the street was almost completely deserted. At least he recognised where he was. This was Baker Street. A group of men turned onto the road about fifty metres ahead of him. Before, he would have thought nothing of it. Now, it was a sign that he should get indoors. 

Sherlock didn’t seem to be using the whole house, instead he lead John upstairs to a flat. 

“The bedroom’s through there. Go in there and wait for me, we might as well get this over with.”

“What?”

“Hurry up, John. Gregson had me banned from his crime scene, I’ll have to break in after dark.”

Sherlock was going to fuck him and then leave him. Well, he hadn’t exactly expected romance, but this was suddenly far too real. 

“Yeah, yeah, right,” John muttered, stumbling blindly in the direction that Sherlock had pointed. He’d known that this was going to happen from the second he’d been discovered, and now it was finally going to happen and he couldn’t even hate the man that was going to steal his virginity away. 

The bedroom was surprisingly tidy. John had had visions of Sherlock living like some messy teenager, but the only thing out of place in the room was an unmade bed. John kicked off his shoes and sat on it. His natori rode up as he sat, exposing his knees

Sherlock was already unbuttoning his shirt when he came in to the bedroom. He stopped when he saw John, still sitting in his natori. 

“I...There’s a doctor coming in the morning. To make sure,” Sherlock waved his hand vaguely between the two of them. “You’ll have to go back to Highlands otherwise.”

John nodded and stood up to get undressed. The knot of his natori had been tied by Greg and he didn’t want to undo it. It was a link to his friend, but he knew he had to get undressed. He pulled the knot undone and slipped the natori off him. He took his time folding it up and hanging it over the back of a chair. Finally, he turned and saw that Sherlock had finished taking off his clothes and was completely naked. 

He was so pale and uncertain looking that John almost wanted to laugh. This was the man he’d been handed too; he was barely seen as human any more, and it was all because of this man. This was the man who, with a single phone call, could have John castrated, or surgically altered, to better suit his tastes. 

He lay down on the unmade bed, kicking the duvet out of the way. The room wasn’t cold but he wished he could cover himself up. He’d never felt ashamed of his body, but he knew that Sherlock would want to inspect _that place_ between his legs. The place he didn’t even like to think of, let alone touch. 

Sherlock was still standing, looking more embarrassed than excited and almost like he was about to bolt out of the room. John looked at his husband’s cock and it twitched a little and started to harden. 

John had seen men naked before, many times. He’d given medical examinations and he’d even given a few men handjobs, but he’d never been particularly aroused by the thought of a hard cock. Sherlock’s cock was ugly. It was veiny and an angry shade of purple against the smooth planes of his body. John looked away and opened his legs

The mattress dipped and he felt Sherlock settling between his thighs. 

“May I...May I touch you?” Sherlock asked tentatively, his voice hushed. John nodded without looking round. 

One long fingered hand circled his limp cock whilst another traced the lips of his cunt. John cringed and tried to sink further into the mattress. 

“I’ve never done this. I’ve never been interested before,” something in Sherlock’s hesitant voice made John look at him and respond. 

“Nor have I. Even before.”

The finger on his pussy began to gently stroke him, outlining his lips without pushing into him. 

“It’s..You’re,” Sherlock corrected himself and John tense, dreading whatever he was going to say, “You’re fascinating.”

John snorted with laughter. He’d been told so often that Carrier’s bodies were beautiful, which he knew was absolute bollocks, he was ugly and deformed. Fascinating was a term he could understand. It meant scientific curiosity, it meant that Sherlock didn’t think what was between his legs was vile. And even if he did, what did John care? Sherlock’s cock was fucking hideous too. John giggled, the innocent noise surprising him. Sherlock looked up angrily, his face relaxing when he saw John’s expression. 

“I’ve never seen a Carrier al -...” Sherlock broke off, “A Carrier like this before.”

John’s smile faded, but he felt more relaxed. His cock hardened a little in Sherlock’s hand and he felt a sudden slickness in between his legs. Sherlock gasped. 

“You’re wet, John.” Sherlock’s was strained, but this time John didn’t look at him. He didn’t want to be part of this. Sherlock’s finger slipped inside him, the wet lips of his pussy easing the way. John felt his lip curl in disgust, but he remained still. 

Sherlock’s finger pushed into him again and pulled out slowly, he kept on repeating the same movement and John could feel there was more and more liquid. His dick was completely hard in Sherlock’s hand, his body was enjoying this, despite how John himself felt about it. There was a slurping noise from between his legs and John looked down in horror.

But Sherlock was crawling over him, his body heavy on top of John and his fat, ugly cock rubbing against the slickness of John’s pussy. Sherlock pushed his hips forward and his cock pushed against John’s cunt and then slid out and along, until it rubbed, wetly, against John’s cock. 

John gasped at the sudden jolt of pleasure. 

Sherlock grunted softly and shoved his hips forward again. The same thing happened again, but this time John was prepared, he kept his mouth shut and refused to make any sound. 

Reaching down between them, Sherlock grabbed hold of himself and lined his cock against John’s pussy. The press of his cock felt so different from his fingers and John opened his legs as wide as he could. He hadn’t thought he’d enjoy this, but now he almost wanted to feel Sherlock’s cock inside him. 

Sherlock pushed forward, shoving straight into John’s cunt. Something ripped inside John and he screamed in pain. 

Above him, Sherlock was completely still as he stared down with wide, nervous eyes. 

“It’s fine,” John croaked. For a second he thought that Sherlock was going to pull out, that they’d done enough to satisfy the doctor that would check on him in the morning. But Sherlock didn’t pull out, instead he started making tiny thrusts with his hips, and, when John didn’t complain, the thrusts got more and more pronounced. Each push felt slightly deeper. 

It still hurt, but it was just a soreness that John could get used to. Sometimes, Sherlock would thrust in a particular way and he felt something that might have been pleasure. 

Sherlock held himself up, his body not quite touching John and although their faces were close, Sherlock didn’t try to kiss him. In fact, he barely made eye contact. Beads of sweat formed on Sherlock’s forehead but he didn’t slow down; he was still pumping into John, the feeling was deep and wet. 

Suddenly, he let out a startled cry and John felt the cock inside him pulse. 

Sherlock sagged down, resting all of his weight against John for the first time. He was heavy but John didn’t move to push him off. Sherlock’s softening cock slipped out of him, slimey against the lips of his pussy. 

“Do you want me to…?” Sherlock asked, still panting as he reached between them and touched John’s soft cock. He shook his head minutely. He was glad it was over, there was no need to drag this on any longer. 

Sherlock rolled away from him, his breathing slowing. 

“That wasn’t..” Sherlock began, turning to look at John, “What I was expecting. I didn’t mean to…”

Sherlock trailed off and stared over John’s shoulder for a few seconds before jumping out of the bed.

“I don’t have to go out tonight. I could stay, if you want me to.”

John shook his head in the semi-darkness. Sherlock got up and started to get dressed; he didn’t even seem to care about what they’d just done. John rolled onto his side and pulled his knees up, the place in between his legs ached.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Sherlock muttered, sounding more like a repentant schoolboy than a man who’d just claimed his Carrier. John shrugged and tried to block out the sound of Sherlock leaving. He just wanted to fall asleep; sleep was his only escape from this situation. 

“You’re bleeding,” Sherlock told him in a strained voice. John turned around in surprise and saw that there was a smear of blood on Sherlock’s cock. 

“It’s normal,” John said defensively. Standing up, he gathered his white, wedding natori around himself, not caring if he stained the garment with his blood. 

“Yes, yes, of course,” Sherlock agreed in a fluster. “I should go. I don’t usually sleep that much. I’ll probably sleep on the sofa, so...Yes.”

John blinked at him, wishing he would hurry up and leave so that he could to the bathroom in peace and wash away the blood from his broken hymen. Sherlock gave a last decisive nod and fled the room. Seconds later, John heard the front door close and he knew he was alone.


	6. Chapter 6

John woke the next morning to the sound of a violin playing discordantly and someone banging loudly on the front door. As he didn’t have any clothes aside from the two natoris he’d brought from the Centre, he borrowed one of Sherlock’s shirts. It didn’t fit him well, but it would have to do for now. He thought about borrowing a pair of trousers, but he couldn’t see anything that he thought he’d be able to get on, so he took Sherlock’s dressing gown and wrapped it around himself before going out to investigate the commotion. 

He found Sherlock in the sitting room, violin in one hand and bow pointed angrily in the other. The object of his wrath was a man that John vaguely recognised as a doctor from the Centre. 

“Carrier Holmes! There you are! I was just explaining to Mr Holmes that I’m here to perform the post-nuptial inspection and sign the final part of your marriage contract. Oh, and I see you’ve dressed appropriately for the examination. That’s wonderful. Now, would you like to do this here on the sofa, or shall we go to the bedroom?”

John scowled. The doctor was here to make sure their wedding had been consummated, which was humiliating enough, he didn’t want to add to that by being thrown over the sofa like a piece of meat. 

“The bedroom. It’s just through here,” John turned and stalked away. Behind him, he heard the doctor arguing with Sherlock and insisting on privacy for the assessment. 

“Alright now,” the doctor smiled as he closed the bedroom door, shutting Sherlock out. “This will only take a moment. Just swing your legs up onto the bed, and put your feet down flat.”

John did as he said, keeping his knees firmly together. The doctor pulled on a pair of latex gloves and gave him a wan smile. 

“That’s great, now open your legs,” the doctor sat on the bed and leaned down to peer at John’s vagina. John closed his eyes. This was far worse than what he and Sherlock had done the previous night. “Ok, so this is going to feel a little cold, but it should warm up in no time.”

Something metal and freezing cold touched his labia. John shivered and the doctor gave a good natured laugh. 

“Sorry about that, nearly done,” the cold metal pressed inside him and seemed to push at him. “You’re doing very well.” A latex covered finger prodded at him and John squeezed his eyes more tightly shut. 

Suddenly the bedroom door banged open and John’s eyes snapped open to stare in astonishment as Sherlock strode into the room. 

“I think you’ve quite finished, don’t you, doctor?”

The doctor pulled away from John and paled a little in the face of Sherlock’s anger. John slammed his legs together and sat up, struggling to make sure he was completely covered.

“I, well, I suppose I have. Congratulations, Mr and Carrier Holmes, you are now legally married.”

“Get out!” Sherlock snarled. The doctor blinked uncertainly a few times and then hurriedly pulled off his gloves. He looked so uncomfortable, so flustered, that John wanted to laugh. This man had just humiliated him, but now Sherlock was doing the same to him. There was something terribly satisfying about it. 

“I should have stayed with you for the examination.”

John shrugged and adjusted the belt of Sherlock’s dressing gown so that it pressed tightly against his stomach. 

“There’s a second bedroom. Upstairs. If you want to use it. There are some experiments going on in there, but I could do them in the kitchen.”

“Experiments?” John queried. He could still feel the coldness left behind by the doctor’s finger between his legs. 

“Yes, they’re for the Work.”

“I thought you were a consultant,” John stated dully.

“Consulting detective,” Sherlock frowned at him. At any other time John might have been interested in what a consulting detective did, but right now he just wanted to curl up and have a cup of tea. He undid the knot of the dressing gown and then refastened it, even tighter than before. When he looked up Sherlock was gone and he could hear that he’d started playing his violin again. 

He followed the sound of increasingly frantic arpeggios coming from the sitting room, but as soon as he entered, Sherlock stopped playing. 

“There are some clothes coming for you later.”

“You bought me new clothes?”

“Well, Mycroft did.”

“Oh. Thats….” John hesitated. He knew he should be grateful, but it was rather disturbing to think that a man he’d met once was sending him clothes. Although he supposed Mycroft was his brother-in-law now. “Thats nice of him.”

Sherlock scowled and started examining his bow with a look of the utmost concentration on his face. To John, last night had been the culmination of all his fears; his new body given away without his control. Yes, so the man who’d fucked him was an alright bloke, but that didn’t make it any better. 

It didn’t hurt when he walked, but the soreness made him move slowly as he put the kettle on and started to investigate what the kitchen cupboards contained. There were tea bags, but no milk in the fridge. The violin screeched as Sherlock bowed at it violently, before flinging the instrument down onto his armchair. John kept a careful eye on his husband through the doorway as he puttered around the kitchen

“And there’s a computer in the fridge, just program what food you want and the local supermarket will deliver it. They usually come by on Thursdays, you should keep an eye out for them,” Sherlock yelled out just as John had resigned himself to black tea.

“Wait, wait. I won’t go outside to go shopping? Not even to Tesco’s?

“No, of course not.”

John hadn’t really expected to be allowed out. He knew it was dangerous on the streets for Carriers, but suddenly he realised quite how trapped he was. He couldn’t breath and he was going to suffocate, trapped in this little flat. At least in Highlands he could go outside and see the sunshine. He’d had his gardening classes. Now, he’d given all that up and he was going to die in a pokey flat with horrible wallpaper. 

“But, what if I want to do the shopping myself?”

Sherlock snorted. 

“I didn’t realise you were so house proud. Oh, but this is about something else, isn’t it?” Long fingers tapped on the back of the armchair. “You think this is a loss of freedom. You’re scared that I’ll keep you confined to the flat. Well, its not safe for you to be out alone.”

“Oh,” John nodded. He knew it was true. There were too many desperate man who lacked the influence to procure themselves a Carrier. He’d be a target as soon as he stepped outside the front door. 

“I thought you’d like the fridge-computer.”

John laughed, although he felt like crying. 

“If this is about going to Tesco’s then I’ll hire some security. Mycroft gave me a card for some Carrier security firm, but I threw it away. I’ll find a different company. One that doesn’t come with Mycroft’s approval, alright?” His voice sounded higher normal, a slightly whine to it, as if he were begging John not to cry. He nodded slowly. 

“Yeah, yes. Thank you. I’d like that.” 

The kettle boiled and turned itself off before John could get to it. There was something very calming about making tea, even though he doubted he would drink it without any milk. Instead, he found some sugar cubes and loaded them into the tea as quietly as he could. He wasn’t sure what Sherlock’s stance on him looking after his body was, but in the meantime he was going to enjoy this bit of freedom. 

By the time he returned to the sitting room Sherlock was back to sprawling across the sofa unconcernedly. 

“Why did you think I’d like the fridge-computer?”

“Oh, that’s easy. You always hated the way that the Centre made you eat healthy food. You almost took up smoking just to prove a point to them. Now, you can order all the saturated fats your arteries can take. “

“You don’t mind?”

“Don’t be dull. And pass me my phone. You should get one too, I might need it.”

John smiled into his tea. Apart from the sex, which was now thankfully done with, he thought he could get used to living at Baker Street. He took a sip of his tea and nearly spat it out again. It was so sweet that it made his teeth ache. 

The next morning, John woke up alone, in his own bedroom. The clothes that Mycroft had sent him had included some pajamas and John didn’t bother to change out of them as he made his way to the kitchen. The flat had a quality of silent peace to it that told him that Sherlock wasn’t home. 

Instead he found a mobile phone, a credit card and a handwritten note from Sherlock. Apparently, he’d hired a security firm and all John had to do was call the given number before he wanted to go out. John called the number immediately. 

It rang twice before a man with a heavy Eastern European accent answered.

“Carrier Holmes?”

“Er, yeah, who is this?”

“Petrokov’s Carrier Security. You want protection now? I send Mischa and Boris. They come maybe twenty minutes. Take you to Tesco’s, da?”

“Yeah, OK. Twenty minutes.”

“Tesco’s fifteen minute walk, or two minute drive. Which you want?”

John hesitated. He hadn’t really believed that Sherlock would even hire a security firm and now he was gone and he couldn’t believe this was real. It was so much more than he’d been expecting.

“Mischa and Boris don’t help carry groceries. They highly trained, they carry guns, not food. You want to buy grocery, you take car, da?”

“Sure, yeah. I’ll drive.”

“No, you no drive. We drive. Twenty minutes,” the phone clicked as the man hung up, but John was grinning too widely to care. He was so happy that he practically ran up the stairs to his bedroom. He rummaged through the box of clothes that Mycroft had sent. He’d been expecting Mycroft to send him nothing but natoris, as that was what he always sent Greg, but there wasn’t a single one in the box. Instead, John pulled on a pair of jeans and shirt before going downstairs to wait for his escorts at the foot of the stairs. 

Exactly twenty minutes later his phone rang. 

“Carrier Holmes? This is Boris, you open - “

John opened the front door as quickly as he could to find a man dressed entirely in black and towering over him. 

“Carrier Holmes? We have car here,” the man, Boris, John presumed, pointed at a dark car. Another man, just as muscular as Boris, was holding a car door open for John and looking around like he expected them to be attacked at any second. 

“Perfect,” John grinned, the morning sun bright in his eyes. 

 

There were a few other Carriers at the supermarket, each of them being trailed by silent bodyguards. There were also a few men, but no-one approached John. Not with Boris and Mischa silently scowling at any man within ten metres of him. The two guards refused to let John draw them into conversation and after a few abortive attempts, John resigned himself to just wandering up and down the aisles. There was so much choice and he had no idea what to buy. In the end he just picked up some milk and spent an hour just walking around, before buying some crisps and asking to be taken home.

 

The lessons that the Centre had tried to drill in to him proved entirely useless. Sherlock barely ate, so there was never any need to cook a proper meal for him; let alone the enormous roasts that the Centre had said all men would expect to have cooked for them every night. So John went to Tesco’s and bought all the unhealthy food he could find, but Sherlock didn’t seem to care.

There weren’t clothes to mend or flowers to arrange. If there had been then John would have rebelled against it, he would have refused to cook, or clean, or generally beautify the place. But, as it was, Sherlock didn’t seem to notice the layer of dust that John was letting gather over everything.


	7. Chapter 7

John spent most of his time either in the sitting room reading Sherlock’s books or, when Sherlock was home, upstairs in his little bedroom. The bedroom was boring. It was small and there was nothing to do. There was nothing interesting to read and he found himself missing Greg’s company. 

“JOHN!”

He jumped from the doze he’d fallen into, even though it was still early afternoon. 

“JOHN!!”

Convinced the flat was on fire, or that there was some dire emergency, John ran down the stairs, only to find Sherlock sprawled out in his usual position on the sofa. His violin rested on his chest, and he was holding on to his bow, pointing it at John when he rushed into the sitting room. 

“There you are! I’ve been talking to you for ages!”

“What is it? What’s happened?” John said, looking around frantically as it slowly dawned on him that there was no emergency. 

“There’s a hand in the fridge. Have a look at it and tell me if you think it belonged to a Carrier, will you?”

“What are you talking about?”

Sherlock sighed loudly, as if he were terribly put upon.

“The fridge, John, look at the hand in the fridge and tell me if it belonged to a man or a Carrier.”

“Carriers are men,” John said numbly. 

“Yes, yes, you know what I mean. If you don’t want to look at the hand then thats fine, but I thought you might be interested.”

John didn’t bother saying anything else. Instead, he went to the fridge. Sure enough, there was a severed human hand inside. He gave it a half-hearted poke and then went back to the sitting room. 

“Why is there a hand in the fridge?” 

Sherlock put his violin in the armchair and flopped back heavily on the sofa. 

“Irrelevant. What did you think of the hand?”

“Did you, did you cut off someone’s hand?”

“John! If you’re not going to help then you can go back to sulking in your room!”

“For God’s sake, just take it to a lab and have them run a screen on it.”

“Can’t.”

“What do you mean, you can’t? You’re in and out of Bart’s all the time.”

“Yes, but I don’t usually steal body parts from crime scenes,” Sherlock snapped angrily before looking round at John with a vulnerable expression. It wasn’t fair that John was the one whose life had been turned upside down yet Sherlock was able to pull that face. 

“You’ve got to give it back.”

“No! With Lestrade gone the police barely trust me at all. They’d never let me back if they found out I took a hand. But they were being so stupid, they would never have found it and, even if they had, they would have buggered it up.”

“Sherlock,” John said tentatively, taking a step forward. “You can’t keep someone’s hand here, especially if it might help solve a crime. Just take it to Bart’s, run the tests you need and, and then put it back where you found it.”

Sherlock eyed him speculatively.

“You don’t think I should turn myself in?”

“Nah, I mean, as long as there’s no harm done…”

“Come and sit next to me, John.” Sherlock said, his voice quiet and unsure. John froze instantly. He’d got rather used to being around Sherlock, to basically just being flatmates despite their first night together. Cautiously, he perched on the edge of the sofa, his back brushing against Sherlock’s side.

“Do you...Do you ever think about your first night here?” Sherlock’s voice was so soft, like he was trying to calm a scared animal. The very idea that Sherlock was capable of that much patience was laughable. John snorted inelegantly and looked round to see Sherlock’s face; he looked impossibly young and vulnerable. It gave John a rush of power at his sudden insight into their situation. Sherlock, for all his brusqueness, was scared of initiating sex, yet he had enjoyed it. He wanted more, but he wasn’t willing to push John.

“I suppose.”

“I know, we agreed before, that you wouldn’t have to do it again.”

John didn’t say anything. They hadn’t really agreed to any such thing, it had been more of a tacit understanding that they would live together as flatmates. Sherlock’s hand plucked at John’s elbow, not quite holding on to it, just tentatively patting it. John didn’t push him away.

“Have you,” John said haltingly, “Have you ever, tried doing other things? Before, when I was in the army, well, we used to...With each other.”

Sherlock’s eyes got very wide, although John thought he saw a hint of possessive anger. He shook his head fractionally and gave a dismissive wave of his hand. 

“It’s just transport. I’ve never been interested in anything beyond the Work before.”

John smiled tightly. He wished he could be so dismissive of his own body. If his body was just transport then he’d still be in Afghanistan. Sherlock was still patting at his elbow, as if John was the man’s pet. He supposed he was, in a way. 

“I don’t…”John started. Sex seemed so tremendously unimportant, and if he could use his body to gain any amount of influence over Sherlock then he would. He just couldn’t bear to think about that new part of him. That thing between his legs that had destroyed his life. “We can do other things, different things.”

Sherlock’s hand stilled on his elbow and John could see the apprehension on the younger man’s face. 

“Do you hate being here very much?

“It’s fine. It’s good to be away from Highlands. I don’t know how Greg can stand it, living there for so long, especially as he has Anderson on his back all the time.”

“Anderson?” Sherlock’s eyes widened and his hand jerked away from John. “Of course, how could I have missed it!? That’s where Anderson went.”

Sherlock’s hand returned to pet his elbow, this time with little stroking motions that made John want to laugh, but he knew he had to keep a straight face. 

“Back in the army, sometimes men would get together, as couples, and they’d have sex.”

“Obviously,” Sherlock rolled his eyes, but his voice wasn’t as cutting as it could have been. 

“Hm, well, is that something that interests you?”

Sherlock’s mouth fell open in what looked to John like a ridiculous parody of surprise, but the man was obviously sincere. Sherlock nodded frantically. 

John smiled, his cock twitching. Sherlock was so clearly desperate for him and it gave him a massive rush of power. He was almost excited about this. 

“Alright then, you need to take off your clothes,” John said, resisting the temptation to laugh as Sherlock scrambled away from him to start wrenching off his clothes. He didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone move so quickly and so inelegantly. Sherlock’s ugly cock was already hard, but it looked far less intimidating than it had last time. 

“And we’ll need some lube,” John continued standing and undoing his shirt. Sherlock’s eyes followed his hands, mesmerized by them and he didn’t move to go and get lube. It was, John thought, tremendously flattering, as well as tremendously empowering. He stopped undressing. 

“Well, lube?”

Sherlock swallowed, and then snorted softly and ran to the kitchen. John undid his trousers and pulled them off as he listened to a series of bangs and clattering noises as Sherlock searched the kitchen. 

John lay back on the sofa, his cock fully hard. He stroked himself leisurely, his fingers not venturing any lower. 

“Olive oil was the - oh, John!” Sherlock gazed down at him hungrily and John spread his legs, and tilted his pelvis, so that Sherlock could see his arsehole. There was something very beautiful about knowing that Sherlock wouldn’t come near him, until he gave him permission. 

“You’ll have to open me up first, can you do that?” John asked, not able to stop the smirk that wormed its way onto his face. Sherlock nodded distractedly, his eyes not on John’s face. “Come on, then.”

And as soon as he gave permission, Sherlock was upon him, his fingers already slick with oil as they rubbed tight circles around John’s arsehole. A fingertip pressed against his rim and John felt himself relax. This was how real men had sex, this was how a man should be fucked. He sighed contentedly and Sherlock pushed another finger into him. It was too soon and John flinched slightly at the sudden stretch and burn. 

Sherlock’s long fingers moved inside him, searching, and John smirked as he realised that his husband was looking for his prostate. Probing fingers finally found what they were looking for and John gasped loudly, half sitting up in surprise. That was pleasure! And there was nothing wrong with admitting that it felt good, because all men had prostates. 

John lay back down. 

“John?” Sherlock asked, his voice low and tentative. 

“It’s…” John looked down at Sherlock’s nervous face; his nasty, purple cock looked painfully hard and the tip was damp with precome, but he knew that Sherlock was only asking if he was alright. “It’s good. Do that again.”

Sherlock gave a solemn nod and stuck three fingers up his arse. Strong fingers massaged around his prostate, not quite touching it, but teasingly close to it. John squirmed, trying to get Sherlock where he wanted him.

“Are you? Do you think you’re ready?” 

“Yes!” John yelled, more frustrated than he’d realised and his voice louder than he’d meant it to be. Sherlock pulled his fingers out of him with a wet sucking noise and leaned down to get more olive oil to slather over his own cock. 

Once again, Sherlock crawled up his body so that their faces were close together. John could feel Sherlock’s heavy cock, pressed delicately against his rim. Sherlock gave a low grunt and pushed inside, not pausing until he was completely buried. His heavy balls rested against John, tickling him. John frowned, his arse burning slightly, but Sherlock was keeping perfectly still and he could feel his muscles unclenching and relaxing to accommodate Sherlock. He gave a jerky nod and Sherlock pulled out slowly and then pushed back in again. This time he was at a slightly different angle and he seemed to batter straight into John’s prostate. 

John howled, the pleasure was almost too intense. Sherlock leaned back, trailing his fingers along John’s chest and pinching his nipples, a satisfied smirk on his face. 

“Again!” John demanded. Sherlock’s response was instantaneous, he pulled and pushed in again and again. Each stroke giving John more and more pleasure until he was losing himself, he was so close to coming. 

Sherlock’s large hand played with his cock, sometimes gripping hold of it, sometimes stroking it. He stroked, featherlight, along John’s straining cock, down to his balls and then further down to caress the soaking wet lips of his pussy.

“Stop! No! What the hell are you doing?” John screamed, his body freezing in horror. He hated Sherlock in that instant. He’d been enjoying himself. He’d been having sex because he had chosen to, because he’d wanted to, and it had been good and then Sherlock had ruined it all.

“John, I…” Sherlock began, pulling his cock out of John’s arse. It was an immensely unsatisfying feeling, leaving John feeling empty and even more angry that Sherlock had destroyed their good time. “Please, John. There’s nothing to be ashamed of, it’s just you, it’s just your body. Please, let me show you.”

John shivered, he couldn’t bear the idea of having sex like a Carrier, like they had that first night, but he kept silent and Sherlock was moving so quickly that he was taken by surprise when he felt Sherlock’s mouth on his pussy. Wet kisses were pressed against his slimey lips and he started to close his thighs around Sherlock’s head to get him to stop, but then Sherlock licked him. His tongue was wet and John wasn’t sure what was saliva and what was his own juices but the confusion stopped his humiliation. Sherlock gave another swipe of his tongue. 

It didn’t feel bad. 

It wasn’t overwhelming, it was sort of nice. It certainly wasn’t disgusting. John let his thighs open again. He supposed he was willing to let Sherlock continue doing this if he really wanted to. Sherlock seemed to take his movement as permission to continue and to get more creative. He began to lap more forcefully at John, his tongue twisting interestingly. Sherlock’s hands had been resting on his arse, one hand cupping each cheek; but now he grabbed hold of John’s prick and redoubled the assault on John’s pussy. 

It did feel good, not the sharp spike of pleasure that the hand on his cock was giving him, but a slow, gently building arousal that he could feel inside himself. Sherlock’s hand was insistent on his cock, gently wanking. Suddenly, he pressed his tongue into John’s pussy at the same time as he thrust one finger back into his arse. And John, to his surprise, came with Sherlock’s tongue firmly lodged in his pussy. 

John panted, slowly coming down from his orgasm. It had probably been the best he’d ever had, and he couldn’t quite get over the shock that a feeling that good could have anything to do with that unmentionable thing between his legs. But it had, and he felt, for the first time since the Change, willing to accept himself. 

He knew he should offer to reciprocate, but Sherlock was blushing and not looking at him. John sat up and saw there was a damp stain on the sofa. Sherlock had come but both his hands had been on John. He blinked, almost unbelieving that Sherlock could have enjoyed what they’d just done that much, but the evidence was in front of him. Sherlock’s cock was softening and starting to resemble a wrinkled worm. 

“Do you want to come to Bart’s? The morgue is always deserted anyway. It’s only ever me by myself down there.”

“I trained at Bart’s,” John said, not answering, it suddenly struck him how long ago that seemed. Like it had happened to a different person. Well, he supposed it had, he’d been a man then. Now he was a Carrier. He rolled away from Sherlock and muttered something about needing to shower. Sherlock was long gone by the time he ventured downstairs again. 

Having sex with Sherlock, choosing to have sex with Sherlock, not just to consummate their marriage, had done something to the atmosphere in the flat. Something very odd was happening to Sherlock, but John wasn’t quite sure what. Sometimes, he’d give John oddly searching looks, and sometimes he’d open his mouth to speak to John and then close it again without saying anything. On John’s side, he didn’t think his attitude towards Sherlock had changed. He treated Sherlock the same as he ever had, although, after one of Sherlock’s experiments erupted and left a fine layer of black ash on every kitchen counter, he did start to tidy up a bit. John tackled the washing up that had piled up next to the sink; he’d been leaving Sherlock’s dirty tea cups to sit and rot but now John decided that he preferred a clean kitchen than a protest that he doubted Sherlock was even aware of. 

Finishing the washing up, he made a spur of the moment decision and phoned for a car to take him to Highlands. Sherlock, always so quick to deduce things, knew he was leaving the flat the second that John stepped into the sitting room. John was actually a little nervous, even though Sherlock had arranged for this security firm, and John had been to Tesco’s multiple times, he’d never left while Sherlock was in the flat. 

“Where are you going?”

“I want to see Greg - “ John stopped as Sherlock rolled down onto the sofa and gave a dismissive wave of his hand; his question had been satisfied and he had no more interest in whatever John had to say. He was just letting him leave. It was so easy, so surprisingly freeing. 

Sherlock stood suddenly and marched towards him. John stood his ground, but couldn’t help the pang of disappointment. He’d known it had been too good to be true. The man stopped in front of him, so close that John could see the whirls of blue and grey in Sherlock’s eyes. 

“I’ll text Highlands, let them know to expect you.”

John licked his lips slowly, he wasn’t sure what was going through Sherlock’s mind, but he knew he had to be careful. He paused. Did he know that? What had Sherlock ever done that made John feel that way. He couldn’t think of anything, he couldn’t think of any reason to believe that Sherlock would abuse the power that he had over John, except the fact that he held it. 

“Thanks. Thats kind, of you.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and stepped away.

“Oh, and John? There’s a packet of cigarettes in my sock drawer. Give them to Greg for me, will you?”


	8. Chapter 8

Boris sat next to the driver on the way to Highlands, not saying a word, even when they pulled up at side entrance where Sam was waiting for John with a smile. 

“John! Hi!”

“Sam,” John nodded brusquely in greeting. 

“It’s always so good when Carriers come back to us to talk about how happy their marriages are,” Sam reached out and grabbed John’s elbow, stopping him from stepping inside the building. “It wouldn’t be fair to make the others worry by talking about other things, don’t you agree?”

John pulled his arm away from Sam. Behind him, he heard a car door open and he knew that Boris had taken exception to Sam touching him and would intervene if things escalated. 

“I’m just here to see Greg. I told him that he could do something with my hair when it was long enough.”

“Oh, in that case, I’ll show you the way. Greg had a change of rooms after you left us,” Sam’s easy going smile was hoisted back onto his face and John gritted his teeth as he followed him into the building. 

“You know, I’ve been wondering,” John began as they started to climb a staircase, “What is it that makes you exempt? Why do you get to stay here and not push out children like the rest of us?”

Sam stopped abruptly on the step above John. His smile was completely gone and his face looked more open than John had ever seen it.

“I thought everyone knew. I was married, but I’m infertile. My husband returned me. There aren’t many options for infertile Carriers and staying here is preferable to,” Sam shuddered, “Anything else. In recent years, a few government run Carrier-brothels have opened up. They’re always in need of more infertile Carriers. I’m told that no-one survives long in such places. But,” Sam’s lips curved into a smile that looked even less sincere than it normally did, “As long as I do my job here, as long as I keep moral up and make sure that the new Carriers are adjusting to life here, then I can stay here too.”

John swallowed, not sure what to say. He’d wanted to punch Sam, so often, for his mindless optimism. He’d never thought about why the man was like that, and now he could only pity Sam. 

“Yes, well. Come along, John. I think that Greg and your husband used to know each other, so I’m sure he’ll love to hear about what Mr Holmes has been up to recently. And, here we are. Its the fifth door on the right. It was good seeing you again, John. Goodbye now.”

And with that Sam left, almost running down the stairs. John watched him go, unable to keep the pity he felt from showing on his face. He doubted that Sam wanted to see it. Instead, he just shook his head and went to knock on Greg’s door. It was thrown open instantly and John was pulled into Greg’s embrace. 

“John! There you are! Sam said I should expect a visitor, I was hoping it would be you!” Greg’s arms wrapped around him and held him tightly. John smiled into his friend’s natori. He’d spent so much of his life starved of physical affection, but now he was beginning to enjoy it and he didn’t think he’d ever get tired of if. 

“Alright, enough of that! Come in, come in. I moved quarters after you left, the view isn’t as good, and I’m sharing with Per, do you remember him? The Swedish lad? But I do have a very tiny kettle in here. I’ll make us some tea, yeah?”

“Yeah, I’d like that,” John nodded, slightly overwhelmed by his friend. He sat on one of the two beds as Greg fussed about getting tea cups and bags ready. Greg’s hair was held up in a small bun that reminded John of a samurai; his natori was brightly coloured and he wore a brooch in the shape of a butterfly that sparkled every time the light hit it. “You look good. New,” John paused, he was fairly sure both the natori and the jewellery were new, but he wouldn’t ask if they were gifts from Mycroft. “New things?”

“Oh, yeah. Mycroft.” Greg shrugged awkwardly.

“I’ve been drinking normal tea. And coffee. And, and anything I want. I do all the shopping and Sherlock doesn’t care what I eat,” John blurted out, suddenly guilty for enjoying his freedom whilst Greg was still at Highlands. For a second, Greg was silent and then he started to laugh. John blushed and then started to giggle as well. “I’m being ridiculous, aren’t I? Here, Sherlock sent these.”

John put the packet of cigarettes down on the bed. 

“Oh, God, thanks! You’ve no idea how good it is to laugh again. Per is a fucking nightmare. It’s not his fault, but he’s homesick and young. Anyway, come and sit here so I can do your hair properly.”

John perched on a chair in front of the mirror and Greg ran his hand through his hair, sometimes pulling at strands to see how long they were. 

“Your hair really grew!” Greg said fondly as he fetched some scissors and made a few cuts.

“Yeah, I’ve just been ignoring it,” John smiled; if he hadn’t promised Greg that he could cut it then he probably would have just shaved his head. Certainly, he doubted Sherlock would have cared. 

“Oh, and the latest scandal is that Anderson is dead. There was a car crash the other day, he was on his way to fetch a new Carrier, lost control of the car and smashed into the front gate. According to one of the Carriers who managed to talk to someone from the ambulance crew, they found alcohol in his blood.”

“Jesus!” John swore, looking at his friend’s reflection in the mirror. Greg’s face was impassive.

“Yeah. Look, I wouldn’t ask, but I couldn’t help wondering. Did you tell Sherlock? That Anderson was here?”

“Yeah, I did. I’m sorry, it just slipped out. Do you think Mycroft had anything to do with his death?”

Greg’s face hardened and John could see the anger there, but he didn’t want to hear whatever Greg had to say. He loved Greg dearly, but his friend’s attitude had always irked him. He’d never said anything to him about it, but he had to now.

“Mycroft loves you, you know. And I know you think its the wrong kind of love, or something. And maybe he is overbearing and interfering. But he’s willing to kill for you, for your happiness, so just stop! Stop feeling sorry for yourself! Stop complaining about how you don’t have any choices. None of us do. But we make the best of the situation, and most of us don’t have Mycroft pandering to our every whim.”

Greg’s face flushed red with anger and John half expected him to tell him to leave, but then Greg’s shoulders fell and he seemed to just deflate. He shook his head and gave John a pitying look. 

“Mycroft thinks he loves me, but he’s not capable of love. Maybe, if you’d met Sherlock before you Changed, then you’d understand what it’s like. But, you can’t go -”

“Stop! Just...I’ve been with Sherlock a month. And, no, it’s not love. But, but if society had its way I’d be pregnant by now, and probably chained to the kitchen stove. But Sherlock gave me a contraceptive shot, he respects me when no-one else did. So, yeah, maybe we don’t have this star crossed romance, but I’d much rather have his respect, and him treating me like an actual human being, than all that. Mycroft - ” 

“Enough!” Greg yelled, he pursed his lips and didn’t look at John. “I get it.”

“I’m not telling you to bloody marry Mycroft, I’m just saying that you shouldn’t be so upset when -”

Greg held up his hand and John knew he was begging him to be silent.

“Your hair’s still too short to do anything with. You should come back in a week’s time, and I’ll try and do something then.” Greg moved away from him and put his scissors away in a drawer. John let out a frustrated sigh and stood up. 

“I’m sorry, Greg, I shouldn’t have yelled, but there’s no need to chuck me out.”

“No, it’s not that. I just really need some time to think. Maybe you’re right about Mycroft, maybe I am being a whinging idiot. I’d just really like some time to think. Will you come and see me again. Next week?”

“Sure, alright,” John said with a frown, but then Greg stepped over to him and enveloped him in a hug. 

“Forgive me, for being rude. Don’t go yet. Stay, and I’ll shave your legs.”

John laughed and squeezed Greg closer to him. 

“I’ll stay, but you don’t have to shave me.”

“Oh, God, give it a go. You’ll get into bed tonight and the sheets will feel like the smoothest thing you ever felt! I promise!”

John pulled away and looked up at his friend’s face. It was almost impossible to say no, especially when he knew this was Greg’s way of apologising for his earlier outburst. 

“Alright then, but only up to the knee.”

Greg’s face cracked into a smile and he beamed. 

An hour later, John made his way back to the car. Somehow he’d let Greg convince him to shave a lot higher than he’d intended. There wasn’t a single hair on his legs, or even between them. It made him feel uncomfortably young, and his clothing pressed against him in a strange, snug way that he wasn’t sure he liked. 

He couldn’t stop thinking about his conversation with Greg on the ride home and the more he thought about it, the more he had to think about how Sherlock had treated him. He’d given him space and as much as freedom as he could. He’d never forced John to do anything sexually, in fact John was the one that felt like he controlled Sherlock because of how sexually insecure Sherlock was. It made his pussy feel a little strange, thinking about how decent Sherlock had been. John twisted in his seat, trying to get comfortable. It felt like there was a strange pressure inside him, almost like he needed the loo. He found himself looking forward to getting back to Baker Street. He hoped Sherlock was still home. 

The street was as deserted as ever when the car stopped, and he didn’t bother waiting for Boris to get out first before he jumped out and ran upstairs. Sherlock was sprawled on the sofa, wearing his dressing gown, pajama bottoms and a thoughtful expression. 

No, he didn’t love Sherlock. Maybe he never would. But he was as happy as he could possibly be because of this man. He walked determinately to the sofa and swung his leg over Sherlock’s hips so that he was straddling his husband. Sherlock looked up at him in shock and, briefly, John couldn’t believe himself. He hadn’t felt this confident since his Change. 

“John?”

“Sherlock,” John smirked. He leaned down and kissed Sherlock chastely on the lips. Underneath him, Sherlock gave a whimper of pleasure, his mouth falling open. John hadn’t even thought about it, but he realised that he’d never actually kissed Sherlock before. He pushed his tongue into Sherlock’s body and felt a thrill of power as Sherlock clung weakly to his shoulders. His stomach twisted and he realised what he'd been feeling in the car was desire; he wanted Sherlock. 

John was already half hard and he rubbed himself experimentally against Sherlock. He was hard and John had a sudden urge to see Sherlock’s ugly cock. He pulled away and Sherlock gave a soft moan of protest that ended as soon as John pushed down the man’s pajamas. His cock looked as ugly as ever, fat and covered in lumpy veins. John smiled fondly at it. When he’d first seen it, it had seemed like a weapon of his imprisonment. Now, it was more like an ugly pet that was starved of affection and just wanted to be touched and loved. He clambered awkwardly off Sherlock in order to take off his own trousers, but he couldn’t resist leaning over to drop a small kiss to the bulbous, purple head of Sherlock’s cock. Above him, he heard a small gasp but he didn’t look up.

Sherlock started to sit up, scrambling to take off his dressing gown. 

“Stay,” John commanded quietly and, amazingly, Sherlock obeyed. His shoulders went limp and he fell back on to the sofa, his strange face so full of wonder that it looked almost beautiful. 

To his surprise, when he pulled off his pants he found that they were already wet. He threw a leg over Sherlock, but a hand on his hip stopped him from straddling Sherlock completely. 

“You don’t have to,” Sherlock said softly. John licked his bottom lip. He understood what Sherlock was saying. If there was any man on the planet who could be married to a Carrier and not expect regular sex; to want nothing more than to be flatmates, then it was Sherlock. 

“I know, I suppose that’s why I want to,” John smiled, and sank down, impaling himself on Sherlock’s cock.


End file.
